


just wanna be yours

by wheezykaspbraks



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Begging, Come Eating, Crotch Stepping, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humiliation, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sub Richie Tozier, dom eddie kaspbrak, i can’t believe that’s a thing i actually typed out oh my god, oh god here come the nsfw tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheezykaspbraks/pseuds/wheezykaspbraks
Summary: At the end of the day, Eddie just wants Richie to want him. And it’s not like — see, he can live without it. He doesn’t need it. He’s an adult, he’s not going to go all middle school girl and run whining to Richie about how he doesn’t feel loved enough.He knows that Richie loves him, it’s something that curls around the rungs of his ribs and finds a home settled deep in his chest, his heart beating to the rhythm of all of the ways they love each other.So it’s okay, really, that Richie doesn’t love him that way.—in which richie definitely, definitely loves him that way
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 25
Kudos: 544





	just wanna be yours

**Author's Note:**

> i blame @cytakigawa on twitter for this, specifically [this absolute masterpiece](https://twitter.com/cytakigawa/status/1241958879254249474) that i saw and then became completely obsessed with
> 
> a quick little warning for a few self deprecating thoughts on eddie’s part. i tried not to go into detail because i’m assuming you’re all here just for the porn, but eddie isn’t very confident in himself or how richie sees him. remember, if you ever feel the way that eddie does in this fic, talk with your partner about it and figure out where to go from there. don’t try to bottle it all up inside, eddie kaspbrak is a top tier idiot and no one should follow his lead ever

Eddie Kaspbrak is _way_ too old to be dealing with shit like this. Granted, he’s only forty, but he’s dealt with twenty-ish years of _not_ worrying about whether or not he’s desirable.

Because that’s the whole goddamn problem, isn’t it? Eddie didn’t care before. He didn’t care about the fact that he hated his job, or that he didn’t feel much for Myra other than a lingering sense of exasperation even on the day that he got down on one knee, or that people had _opinions_ about him. He was a heterosexual married man, thank you very much, why should he care whether other women find him attractive?

Except he quit his stupid boring _safe_ risk-analysing job, and left Myra the moment he got hold of a phone in the hospital, and he cares _so much_ about what people think about him all the time.

He’s pushing forty-two, and Eddie Kaspbrak is not a heterosexual married man. Definitely not married, and definitely not heterosexual.

And that’s the problem. He’s adjusting to identifying as gay, he’s been dating Richie Tozier for almost six months and living together for two, and everything is _so good_ except —

Eddie watches Richie shuffle off to the bathroom, and he wants to fling his phone at the TV.

He’d come home from work to find Richie sprawled out on the couch, oversized shirt and tight little boxer briefs, flipping through channels. He’d lit up as soon as he’d seen Eddie and that was all it took — Richie beaming at him, soft and rumpled like he’d slept most of the day away — for the day’s stress to unravel from his chest.

Richie had whined at him to _just leave it, I need a kiss or I’ll die_ while Eddie toed out of his shoes and slipped off his blazer, and had only settled into pouting when Eddie shot him a warning look as he headed for their bedroom to get changed. Richie had pressed into his side like an oversized dog as soon as Eddie got close enough for him to grab.

“I missed you,” Richie had said, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth as soon as he’d sat down, situating himself more in Eddie’s lap than anything else. And Richie was heavy, all thick thighs and mouth-wateringly broad shoulders, but there was nothing better than Richie Tozier curled up in his lap. 

They’d settled on a crime show, Richie doing different Voices for the corpses as he theorised on their deaths. Eddie, outraged, had nipped at Richie’s ear after a particularly bad joke about one of the victims dying from being _too much of a twink — better watch out Eds, might be you next!_

Richie had squeaked and gone very still in his arms. Apologetic, Eddie pressed a kiss to the side of his neck; he hadn’t meant to actually hurt him, he didn’t think he even bit that hard! It had only taken a few minutes of Eddie trailing absentminded kisses to his neck before Richie had wheezed _be back don’t worry about pausing it_ and launched himself from the lounge, short steps as he tugged on the hem of his shirt.

Now, Eddie stares blankly at the bloody crime scene on the TV, and he’s fucking _frustrated_ because this happens _all_ the time.

When Eddie tries a new recipe and Richie presses himself to the length of his back, groping at his waist and growling _fuck I love a man who can cook_ in his ear, only to falter and retreat when Eddie presses back into him.

After showers as he leers at Eddie’s bare torso, grinning that he wants to _follow those drops with my tongue,_ before he cuts his gaze away as soon as Eddie makes to undo the knot at his hip.

Mornings with Richie curled up on his chest, face tucked into Eddie’s neck, a very obvious hard-on pressing into Eddie’s side. Just for a moment, Richie will make a quiet little noise and roll his hips into it, before he freezes up all over and angles himself very obviously away from Eddie, and Eddie has to lay there with his eyes closed and try not to scream because he _wants_.

At the end of the day, Eddie just wants Richie to want him. And it’s not like — see, he can live without it. He doesn’t _need_ it. It’s just something he thinks about constantly, and he wants it so _bad_ his fucking teeth ache with holding back all of the ways he wants to beg for Richie to just want him back. But it’s fine. He’s an adult, he’s not going to go all middle school girl and run whining to Richie about how he doesn’t feel _loved_ enough.

He knows that Richie loves him, _RichielovesEddie_ is as much a fact of life as _EddielovesRichie_ , it’s something that curls around the rungs of his ribs and finds a home settled deep in his chest, his heart beating to the rhythm of all of the ways they love each other.

So it’s okay, really, that Richie doesn’t love him that way. He doesn’t _blame_ him.

He’s in his forties, he runs every day but his body isn’t the same as it was in college, he found a grey hair at his temple a few weeks back, he has a silvery scar on his cheek that hurts to look at and a much bigger, much pinker starbust explosion scar across his torso.

Eddie flips to a new channel — some reality show he knows Richie loves — and pointedly ignores the way his mouth trembles and his eyes sting.

He sure as fuck wouldn’t want to touch him either.

—

Eddie’s sitting at their dining room table, working on excel spreadsheets and word documents and calculating a gross amount of numbers until his eyes blur, when he switches to youtube for a break. One of Richie’s old acts is being promoted, what with the upcoming release of his new special, and even though he’s watched it a thousand times before, he still clicks on it again. He’s several videos deep when Richie comes in from outside, shirtless and skin pink from the sun, where he’s been lazing about in the pool.

Richie gets embarrassed when he sees Eddie watching his old specials. He buries his face in Eddie’s neck like he can hide there, whining, “I was _so_ gross.” at one of his, admittedly shitty, jokes.

Eddie brushes a soothing hand through his hair. “You _are_ gross.” At Richie’s sad little sound, he continues. “But you’ve grown a lot, Rich, and I’m proud of you. We’ve all said and done stupid things before. The important thing is that you can look back and acknowledge that what you said was wrong, and try to grow from there.”

Richie lifts his head to squint at him, glasses still somewhere outside. “I don’t know where that came from but it’s really doing it for me.”

Eddie laughs. “ _What?_ ”

“No, keep saying stuff like that! Very Dr. Phil vibes, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Keep psychoanalyzing me.” Richie starts moaning in his ear, high-pitched and breathy, and Eddie’s face burns because fuck, _that’s_ doing it for _him_.

A little shy, he slides the tips of his fingers higher than Richie’s waist. Richie’s all soft all over, soft stomach and soft thighs, and Eddie goes a little crazy with how much he likes it as he gently squeezes at his side. As soon as Richie feels it, he goes very still and very silent. Eddie turns to look at him and finds their noses brushing, Richie’s breath hot on his mouth. His eyes are wide and pupils blown out. Before Eddie can move in closer, get his mouth on Richie’s, Richie turns away and nods at the laptop, where younger-him is making a joke about his college roommate always forgetting to leave a sock on the door.

“True story, y’know.” Richie says, putting a little distance between them as he steps away from the table. Eddie’s hand falls to his side. “The things I saw while we roomed together — traumatizing, seriously.” He gives an overdramatic shiver and Eddie forces a smile as Richie heads back outside to retrieve his glasses.

— 

Richie’s always tired when he comes back from a show. Eddie tries to make it to as many as he can, even if it’s just to fondly heckle his boyfriend from the audience because it always makes Richie grin and call him an asshole in front of a crowd of laughing people, but his job can be demanding and they often have conflicting schedules.

Eddie’s in the kitchen when he hears the front door open and the familiar jangle of keys being set on the hook. He’s trying to get better at cooking, and Mike eagerly sends new recipes for him to try out every week. They don’t all work out but he’s pretty proud of tonight’s meal. It’s simple — pasta puttanesca, because Richie mentioned he’d been craving Italian last week. The spaghetti is perfectly cooked and the rest of the ingredients precisely chopped, and he grins when he hears Richie’s moan from the hallway at the smell.

“Babe, that smells _so good_.” Richie drifts into the kitchen, eyes closed as he inhales deeply. He’s dressed more business casual than anything else, cheap slacks and a dark blazer over an ugly shirt with alligator prints all over it. He shucks his blazer off and hangs it over the back of one of the chairs as he swoops in for a kiss.

“I know.” He agrees, more than a little proud of himself. Gone are the days of him freaking out over making anything that took more than two minutes in a pot of boiling water. 

Richie helps set the table as Eddie serves dinner, and Richie loudly moans his way through each bite. Eddie laughs and smiles and shakes his head, and thinks that he’s never been more in love.

“Y’know,” Richie suddenly says, wiping at his mouth and leaving behind a smear of sauce that Eddie reaches over to wipe away. He trails off for a moment as Eddie licks his own thumb clean. “Pasta puttanesca was like, invented by prostitutes.”

“Sex workers.” Eddie corrects absently before pausing. “What?”

“Sorry, _sex workers_. Apparently they would use it to lure in customers.”

Eddie leans closer across the table, eyebrows raised. “There’s no way that’s true!”

“Okay, well, maybe. It used to be called something else but it was called puttanesca after the second World War. No one _really_ knows why it’s called that, some people say the sex worker thing and other people think it was created by the owner of a restaurant in the 50s.”

Richie shrugs and Eddie blinks. He always forgets just how smart his boyfriend is. An idiot, sure, but a smart one.

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So like. Whore pasta.”

Eddie wheezes, “Don’t _call_ it that!”

“I’m just saying!” Richie grins, “Eddie spaghetti. Whore pasta. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

His immediate reaction is to tell Richie to shut the fuck up and eat his food, but, well. He gently places his fork into the bowl and leans back in his chair, meeting Richie’s leer. “Maybe there is.”

And then it happens, because of course it does. Richie freezes. His grin disappears and his grip tightens around the fork in his hand, and Eddie watches with frustration building in his chest as Richie ducks his head and clears his throat.

“This is really good, Eds.” Richie says after a few moments. Eddie realizes that he’s talking about the pasta and his breath leaves him in a frustrated huff.

“Thanks, Rich.” Eddie’s chair clatters as he stands up and heads for the sink. He feels Richie’s gaze on him as he forcefully scoops his leftovers into a plastic container and sets it in the fridge. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Eddie,” Richie sounds confused and it hurts, somewhere deep in his chest.

“Goodnight, Richie.” Eddie cuts him off. Richie stares after him as he makes his way to their bedroom.

It was a dick move, he _knows_ that, but Eddie is so — _frustrated._ It’s hard enough, knowing that his boyfriend has an active sex drive — Eddie’s heard more than enough of Richie getting himself off in the shower, and talking about previous partners, and he found a vibrator in Richie’s drawer when he was tidying their room a few weeks back that he _knows_ is getting its fair share of use — that doesn’t have anything to do with him. It’s a lot harder to deal with knowing his boyfriend isn’t into him sexually when said boyfriend keeps making him think, maybe, just maybe, he could —

Eddie changes into his pajamas and goes about his nightly routine, washing his face and moisturizing and brushing his teeth more aggressively than is probably good for his dental health. By the time he turns off the light and gets into his side of the bed, he doesn’t feel angry any more.

He’s _sad_. There’s no other way to put it. He’s sad that his boyfriend isn’t attracted to him, and he’s sad that he knows no one ever will be attracted to him, and he’s sad that he’s spent his entire life repressing his own sexuality. He never got wild college days with nameless boys at parties, never got fun flings with men at bars, never flirted with coworkers.

Eddie knows that this is it, he’s going to spend the rest of his life essentially a virgin. He and Myra never really did _anything_ ; she was too insecure in herself and Eddie could never bring himself to be attracted to her, what with the fact that she was a woman. It’s almost funny, now, that Eddie is the one craving intimacy with a partner who isn’t attracted to him.

Eddie quickly rolls onto his side when he hears the telltale creek of Richie coming up the stairs. A sliver of light fills the room as Richie opens their door.

“Babe?” Richie says quietly. Eddie stays silent. After a moment, Richie shuffles around the room before heading into the bathroom to get changed. Eddie’s eyes sting because he knows Richie did it so he wouldn’t have to turn the lights on and risk waking him up.

Richie loves him, Eddie _knows_ Richie loves him. As Richie settles onto the other side of the bed, back to back like they’ve never slept before, Eddie thinks of how selfish he’s being.

Richie makes a quiet sound of surprise when Eddie rolls over and drags him back against his chest, tangling their legs together. He presses a kiss to Richie’s bare shoulder.

Eddie loves Richie more than anything, and he knows that committed relationships mean compromising. If Richie doesn’t want to have sex with him, he’ll be fine with it.

—

Eddie feels — maybe not _confident_ , because he hasn’t felt that way about himself in a long time, but more comfortable with himself. He’d gone out for lunch with Bev and ended up with a new pair of slacks and a pair of shoes with a price tag that almost made him physically ill in the store. It’s simple and silly, but the slacks fit him nicely in a way that shows off his ass without being _too much_ , and the shoes make him feel _important_ . They’re a dark maroon that Bev insists looks great against his skin tone, pointed toes and gold accents and just enough heel that they clack as he walks in a very pleasing way. They’re almost too out-there for him, but his therapist has been trying to remind him that he’s _allowed_ to want and have nice things, so he may as well start with a pair of shoes in the triple digits.

Eddie tries them on together as soon as he gets home, pairs them with a pair of dark socks and a dark button-up. He straightens out the collar, does and undoes the cufflinks, rolls the sleeves to his elbows and back down before rolling them up again and folding them neatly. 

Richie whistles lowly from the doorway. Eddie catches his eye in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were home.” Eddie tries not to feel embarrassed.

“I’ve been playing Fortnite.” Richie answers easily. Eddie stares at him for several moments before admitting,

“I don’t know if you’re being serious.”

Richie winks. “That’s my sexy little secret, baby.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, shaking his head. Richie’s wearing one of his few plain shirts with a pair of dark-wash jeans, and Eddie smiles at the socks he sees peeking out under the hems. They’re hideous, a deep green with beige circles on them. He always thinks, just for a moment, that Richie looks like he’s wearing the world’s ugliest pair of crocs. It’s terrible and Eddie loves him.

“So.” Richie says. “New shoes?”

“Gucci loafers.” Eddie corrects, adjusting his collar as he turns this way and that in front of the mirror. “Bev said they made me look — _dashing_ , I think she said.”

“They look expensive.”

“You have no idea, Rich.” Eddie meets his gaze in the mirror again. “I almost threw up when I saw the price but she was just, _oh, that’s not bad!”_

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did she buy them for you?”

“Yeah. She said that every good-looking man needs a nice pair of shoes.”

“I don’t have a nice pair of shoes.” Richie frowns.

Eddie grins at him over his shoulder. “I think that’s the point.”

“Hey!” Richie protests. Eddie laughs, finally turning to pull him into a kiss. Richie pouts and acts put out for a moment, before melting under the affection.

“Bev wants me to model for her some time soon.” Eddie says as he trails sweetheart kisses across Richie’s cheeks, because it always makes him smile in a way that makes his dimples pop. “In return for the shoes. I would’ve done it anyway, if she’d asked, but _I_ got a free thousand dollar pair of shoes out of it.”

Richie laughs. “Oh, you devious gremlin.”

“That’s me.” Eddie presses a final kiss to Richie’s forehead before pulling back. Richie sways after him, eyes soft and cheeks pink. “I’m going grocery shopping.”

Richie blinks. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, tries to ignore the heat in his cheeks. He feels good, he looks good, he wants people to see him and _think_ he looks good. “I’ve been meaning to do it for the past few days and I’m already dressed, may as well get it done.”

“Right.” Richie agrees. He trails after Eddie as he leaves the room, follows him down the stairs and to the front door.

Eddie pulls him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be back soon, message me if you think of anything we need.”

“Right.” Richie agrees again. The door _clicks_ shut behind him as Eddie swings the keys around his finger, whistling to himself. He hasn’t felt this good about himself in a while.

He only gets a few minutes down the road before he realizes that he doesn’t have his phone with him. He curses and pulls a u-turn, heading right back home.

He remembers leaving his phone on the desk in their room while he tried on his new slacks, and shakes his head at himself for forgetting to pick it back up. His therapist has told him before that he has something of a dependency issue with his own mobile phone, and he knows that it’s a problem, but he can’t help the way that he feels like something is off if he doesn’t have it on him. He likes communicating, and staying up to date, and the _safety_ that having his phone with him provides. Eddie’s getting better at going out without it, but. Baby steps.

The house is quiet when he opens the front door. He expects Richie to peek his cute head out from a doorway, or down the staircase, but it’s silent. Eddie heads up to their room and thinks to himself that Richie is probably in the basement playing fucking _Fortnite_ again, or lazing about in the pool, or maybe working on some new material somewhere else in the house.

The last thing he expects when he opens the door is to see Richie on the floor, jeans flung off to the side, hand in his own briefs. His legs are splayed out in front of him and he’s leaning back on one of his hands. The movement over his cock is obvious, Eddie sees the tremble in his arm every time he twists his wrist at the head. _Desperate,_ a quiet voice whispers in Eddie’s head, _he looks fucking desperate._

Richie suddenly jerks, full-bodied, tearing his hand away from himself, and Eddie realizes that Richie is staring at him. For several moments, they look at each other, both wide-eyed with shock.

“Sorry,” Richie finally rasps out, cheeks pink as he averts his gaze. “Fuck, sorry, I usually wait longer before I. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You wait until I leave to jerk off?”

“I mean. Yes?” Richie grimaces. “I’m sorry, I try not to do it when you’re home, and I wait until I know you’re not coming back right away. Shit.”

Something hurts, deep in his chest. Richie can’t even jerk off when Eddie’s in the same house. Something in his face must give this away, because Richie’s eyes widen as he insists,

“I’m sorry! Eds, really, I should’ve waited, I just — you look _so_ good, I felt like I was losing my mind.” He gives a shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Fuck, I barely made it into the room before I _had_ to stick my hand in my pants. Didn’t make it very far.”

Eddie pauses. “What.”

“That shirt! Those slacks! And those shoes, _god_.” Richie groans, dragging his knees to his chest to bury his face in them. “I think I had another sexual awakening over you in those shoes.”

“You. You were jerking off. To me?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Richie. “Yeah, Eds. You’re like, the only thing I think about. Fuck, sorry, that was probably too far.”

“Too far?” Eddie feels like a broken record, helplessly repeating Richie’s lines back at him.

Richie sighs, finally lifting his head. “Yeah. I know you’re not, like, interested in this stuff. I try not to talk about it because I don’t wanna make you, like. Uncomfortable or anything.”

Eddie admits, “I have no idea what’s going on here. Why would it make me uncomfortable? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Eddie!” Richie says desperately. “I’m always the one — _initiating_! It’s pretty clear you’re just acting interested because you feel like you have to.”

Eddie stares at him blankly. “ _What_.”

“I thought I was being too forward. I just wanted you to want me.” Richie admits, voice lower, shoulders curling in.

Eddie feels like he's losing his goddamn mind as everything clicks into place. The flirting, the sexual comments, the hesitance to follow through. All because Richie was too afraid to push Eddie into anything he didn’t want to do. “Richie,” Eddie steps closer, sweeping sweaty curls back from his boyfriend’s forehead until Richie peers up at him with sad eyes. “God, Richie.” he repeats. “Baby, I want you. I _always_ want you, so bad, all the time. I never _don’t_ want you.”

Richie smiles, sad around the edges. “I know Eds, but I mean it like. Sexually.”

“ _Richie_. I know. I want _you_ to want me sexually.”

“I do!”

“And I want you like that too!”

They stare at each other for a moment, Richie’s blue eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Are we just like, _really_ fucking stupid?” 

Eddie laughs, affectionately tugging at Richie’s curls. “Oh, definitely. The most oblivious idiots in the world.”

Richie leans forward to press his forehead into Eddie’s hip, letting his legs splay open more comfortably around where Eddie stands between them. Eddie steps in closer and leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. He gets a hitched breath in response, and feels Richie’s hips jerk against his foot.

When Eddie straightens back up he looks down to see Richie’s face bright red, and his cock obviously still very hard where Eddie’s loafer brushes against him.

Hesitantly, Eddie presses down with the toe of his shoe, just enough for Richie to feel it. Richie slams his eyes shut and whimpers, hips twitching again like he can’t help it, and it’s suddenly the hottest thing Eddie’s ever seen.

He murmurs a low, reverent, “ _Richie_.” as he presses down a little harder, slides over the length of his cock, base to tip.

Richie whines, low in his chest, and Eddie thinks that he looks _good_ down on the floor. He’s sprawled out and his cheeks are stained pink, eyes shiny behind his frames, chest rising with quick little breaths. Eddie wants to _wreck_ him.

Another one of those broken little noises is torn from him as Eddie presses down with the toe of his shoe, just under the head of his cock, where a dark stain is already turning his blue briefs a darker black.

“Eds,” Richie gasps out, head thrown back. Eddie wants to fucking ruin the pale skin of his throat. “Eddie, _fuck,_ that’s good.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, a little disbelieving. “Are you seriously getting off on this?”

Richie makes a wheezing sound. His hips jerk, pressing into the sole of his shoe. “ _Fuckfuck_ , don’t, ah, don’t act like you’re not into this, too.”

Eddie feels his cheeks burn, shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he presses down harder and replies, “Fuck you.” because they both know that Richie is right.

“Eddie,” Richie whines. He looks weepy, eyes glistening, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides where he holds himself up. Richie’s still got his ugly little socks on, and they slide uselessly along their hardwood floors as Eddie grinds the heel of his foot into the base of Richie’s cock, getting a sob in return that makes him feel dizzy with how bad he wants to make this man fall apart for him.

Eddie knows that he’s ruining his new slacks, he’s fucking _dripping_ against the crotch of them, but he sees how desperate Richie is and he doesn’t care. He would ruin every piece of clothing he owns to have Richie gasping and whining for him, soft thighs trembling, cock straining against his cute little briefs as Eddie presses his disgustingly expensive shoes against him.

“You really like this.” Eddie observes, with wonder in his voice. Richie’s face goes red.

“God, don’t look at me, it’s _embarrassing_.”

“It’s hot. You look cute.”

Richie sinks his teeth into his lip, arms finally giving out as he collapses onto his back. Before Eddie can stop to ask if he’s okay, Richie manages to get enough stability to press into the next slow grind of Eddie’s loafers, rolling his hips in a way that makes Eddie’s mouth go dry.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie rasps out, ripping a hand out of his pocket to press against his own cock through the barrier of his slacks. Sparks race down his spine at the pressure. “God, Rich, do you — can you come from this? Just this?”

Pink-faced, Richie nods.

“Want it. Rich, fuck, want you to come for me.” Eddie frantically unbuckles his belt, hissing as he finally gets a hand around himself. The front of his briefs are sticky where he’s been steadily dripping since he first saw Richie. He drops his head back, hand moving over the length of his own cock, slick fingers making the slide smooth and sending his toes curling in his shoes.

Richie whines, a quiet sound of desperation, and Eddie just about blows right then and there when he looks down to see how his boyfriend is squirming. Eddie had stopped moving his foot and Richie writhes desperately, trying to get that friction back, making breathy little noises when he manages to get it.

“Sorry, baby.” Eddie murmurs, grinding down as he moves his hand over his cock. The sound Richie makes is the hottest thing Eddie’s ever heard, wet and broken around the edges. Eddie wants to hear it for the rest of his life. The room is filled with the wet sounds of Eddie fisting at his own length, the sweet little sounds Richie makes every time Eddie grinds his foot over him, heel to toe and back again in a way that has Richie shaking and scrabbling for purchase uselessly against the floorboards. He settles for wrapping a shaky hand around Eddie’s ankle, whining low in his throat with every movement.

Richie sobs out, “ _Eddie_ ,” and Eddie hisses at how good his name sounds coming from his boyfriend.

“You gonna come?” Richie nods frantically. “Do it, Rich, baby, do it, come for me, be a good boy — “

That’s all it takes. Richie shouts out a sob, curling in on himself, hips spasming as Eddie stills his foot and lets Richie work himself through it. He finally settles down, each breath a whiny little wheeze of air as he shivers with the aftershocks. Eddie slowly moves his hand over himself, taking in the tear tracks on his cheeks, the blush that spreads down his neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt, the way his thighs are still shaking and toes curling in his hideous socks.

Richie peers at him with tears clinging to his lashes, and pleads, “Can you come on me? I want it, Eds, please.”

Eddie’s spine lights up as he spills over his own hand.

Richie makes a delighted sound as it lands in thick ropes over his own briefs, where his own cock is sticky and softening. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Eddie shivers, tugging himself through it. Richie leans in close and opens his mouth hopefully, and Eddie, whose brain fucking exploded apparently, doesn’t hesitate to dip his own come-sticky fingers in his mouth. Richie laps at them eagerly as his eyes go heavy. It’s fucking gross and unhygienic and also the hottest thing Eddie’s ever seen or been a part of. When his fingers are clean, more spit-sticky than anything else, Richie collapses back to the floor with a delighted laugh.

Eddie finds the whole thing a whole lot less hot when he steps back and his shoe makes a gross noise as it parts from Richie’s soaked briefs. The sole is wet with Richie’s come and the top with his own. Eddie, disappointed, is already dreading his search history. _How to get come out of leather shoes_ is not something he ever thought he would have to google.

“I hope you know,” Richie says with a grin when Eddie takes both of his shoes off and sets them in the bathroom, unsure of where to leave them until google gives him answers. “This is without a doubt going to be a bit in my next show.”

**Author's Note:**

> i really Wrote that huh 😳 i’m @bloodwitchfilms on twt & i might occasionally post wips on there! & i’m always down to talk reddie


End file.
